


come fly with me

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is a terrible first-time flier so Grantaire does whatever he can to calm him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	come fly with me

**Author's Note:**

> another fill for a [tumblr](http://enjolrahhhs.tumblr.com/) prompt left by another lovely anon! enjoy! ♥

Combeferre had pulled Grantaire aside at the airport drop-off and warned him that Enjolras wasn’t going to be a good first-time flier. Grantaire dismissed his warnings because he simply couldn’t believe it. He had never once seen his boyfriend be anything but fearless, he’d told him. Combeferre just clapped Grantaire’s shoulder, handed him the two tickets he’d booked for them, and wished him luck.

As it turns out, Grantaire needs it.

From the moment they enter the airport, Enjolras is a nervous mess. He clutches his carry-on bag’s handle so tight that his knuckles start to turn white, and he can’t seem to stop darting his eyes around as if he’s expecting something to go wrong already. He jumps when a baggage cart falls over near him, and his frazzled nerves are really tested when they sit next to a family with three rambunctious kids at the terminal gate.

When they finally settle into their seats, Grantaire smiles at Enjolras. “See? It’s not so bad,” he says. The look Enjolras gives him is almost comical.

“We haven’t even left the ground yet, R,” he says. Grantaire notices the rapid up-and-down movement of his left knee and he places his hand gently on top to stop it. Enjolras looks down at his hand and breathes a little easier. “Thanks. I just… why did we have to fly?”

“Because a bus or a train would’ve taken too long.” Grantaire explains. “This is faster and perfectly safe. In fact, you’re more at risk—”

Enjolras cuts him off, shaking his head. “If you give me that bullshit about how it’s safer to fly than drive and the number of flights that take off every day without incident blah blah blah, I swear to god, man…”

Grantaire doesn’t want to laugh but he can’t help himself. “Okay, message received,” he says, holding up his free hand. He’s quiet for a moment, looking around at the other passengers. A moment later, he adds, “But I mean, it’s true.”

Enjolras frowns and opens his mouth to reply, but the plane’s engines start up just then and he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Are we taking off? Is this it?”

“The flight attendant has to give us a little spiel about—” Grantaire decides it’s better to let Enjolras learn about the ‘in case of emergency’ speech as it happens. “—stuff, and then we’ll take off. Just try to relax. Do you want a drink once we’re in the air?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “No, that won’t help.”

“Do you mind if I get one?” Grantaire teases. “You’re a lot to deal with right now.”

If looks could kill, Grantaire knows he’d be dead from the withering gaze Enjolras shoots him. He cuts him off before he can launch into a tirade that is likely to get them both kicked off the flight.

“I’m kidding,” he says, grinning. Enjolras doesn’t smile back, but he does look the tiniest bit less peeved than moments before. “Look, it’s not even a long flight. Just over a few hours and we’ll be back on solid ground.” Until they have to do it all over again.

Enjolras seems to read his mind. “Yeah, until we have to do it all over again.”

Grantaire just smiles and pats his knee, which his hand had never left, and tells him to pay attention to the flight attendant who has just begun his informative speech.

Which Enjolras didn’t take too kindly to.

The moment the flight attendant stops speaking, Enjolras turns in his seat and flashes Grantaire an accusatory look. “What the fuck, R?!”

Grantaire knows it’s Enjolras’ nerves getting the best of him, but he frowns at him anyway. Usually that tone is reserved for when he’s done something that he’s fully aware of and he’s earned it.

“What?” he asks. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You didn’t warn me that was coming!” Enjolras says, gesturing to the flight attendant who isn’t even there anymore. “In the event of a crash landing? Oxygen masks? The fuck.”

“E, calm down,” Grantaire says, lowering his voice in the hopes of getting him to follow suit. A few of the other passengers have noticed the way Enjolras has raised his voice. “They have to tell you that sort of thing in the off-chance that something does happen. You should understand that, Mr Legal Briefs.”

That draws a little laugh out of Enjolras and he appears to finally relax a bit. “You’re right, you’re right,” he says. “This is just so unnatural. If we were meant to fly, we’d have wings. Did Icarus teach us nothing?”

“Considering the fact that this plane isn’t made from wax, I’d say he taught us at least one thing,” Grantaire counters.

Enjolras lets his head fall back against the headrest, letting out a deep sigh. “Ugh, I just don’t want to do this.”

The sign instructing the passengers to fasten their seatbelts comes on just then and Grantaire can’t pass up the opportunity. “Well, we’re doing it. So buckle up, buttercup.”

Enjolras doesn’t even appreciate the line. He’s too busy frantically fumbling with his seatbelt. Grantaire fastens his own and then watches Enjolras with an amused expression. He tries and tries again but can’t seem to slow his actions down enough to actually make the buckle click into place. He looks up at Grantaire, brows knitted together and just a touch of panic on his face.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and calmly fastens the belt for Enjolras.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, the words coming out like a relieved sigh.

Grantaire smiles. “It’s what I’m here for.”

When the plane lurches into motion, Enjolras lets out a little gasp and he immediately grips the armrests so tight that Grantaire is positive the airline will bill him for causing damage. They’ve moved mere inches, and only in reverse, as the pilot backs away from the terminal, and Enjolras is already holding his breath and looking terrified.

“Hey,” Grantaire says, sliding his hand over Enjolras’ and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll be there in no time, and you’ll laugh at all of this.”

“The fuck I will,” Enjolras mutters under his breath. But he releases his hold on the armrest to turn his hand over and link his fingers with Grantaire’s. Grantaire says nothing but smiles.

Which turns into a wince when the plane actually begins to pick up speed down the runway and Enjolras grips his hand like a vice. He’s thankful that his painting hand isn’t the one he’s holding because there’s no way he won’t have stress fractures after this. The plane starts to lift off the ground, and Enjolras lets out a strangled squeak.

“Oh god, it’s happening,” he says, his voice lowered to a panicked whisper. Grantaire wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Enjolras squeezes his hand even tighter.

“Okay, _ow_ ,” Grantaire says, though he doesn’t make any attempt to move his hand. Not that he’d have been able to.

Enjolras looks over at Grantaire and then their clasped hands. “Sorry,” he mutters, loosening his grip to its original bone-crushing pressure.The plane is still ascending, Enjolras looking straight ahead as if the slightest movement will bring the whole thing down. Grantaire doesn’t disturb him, just keeps his gaze trained on him and his hand firmly atop his.

Once the plane levels out, Grantaire expects Enjolras to calm down. He doesn’t.

“What was that?” he asks in a rushed breath, as the plane hits a tiny, barely-there pocket of turbulence twenty minutes into the flight.

“Turbulence,” Grantaire explains in a calm tone. His seatbelt has been unbuckled from the moment the light indicated it was safe to do so. Enjolras’ is still strapped across his waist. “You can take that off, you know.”

Enjolras looks horrified at the suggestion, but Grantaire affectionately rolls his eyes and reaches over to do it for him.

“What are you doing?!” he asks, attempting to fasten his belt again. It proves too difficult with just one hand, and he seems reluctant to relinquish Grantaire’s fingers to free his other hand up, so he gives up and looks positively distraught about being untethered.

“Relax,” Grantaire says. “You’re perfectly fine. This isn’t a zero-gravity flight. You’re not going to go floating away, Enjolras.”

Enjolras gives Grantaire his most petulant glare, mumbling about how he doesn’t have to be a dick about it.

The next few minutes are spent in much the same way. Enjolras feels (or thinks he feels) a jostle, panics, turns to Grantaire for answers, who either calmly answers or just laughs, and Enjolras gets progressively more irritated and nervous. When Enjolras, who Grantaire gave the window seat for some ungodly reason, asks him why the flaps on the wing are flipped up and what does that mean _oh god, R, are we going down_ , Grantaire has reached his limit.

He laughs and stands, tugging on Enjolras’ hand. “Come on,” he says, an idea striking him. If Enjolras won’t have a drink, which he knew he wouldn’t, he knows one way of distracting him that just might work.

If he can get Enjolras out of his seat.

It’s like trying to coax a cat into a bath. Enjolras digs his heels in, eyes going wide as he shakes his head and does his best to pull Grantaire back into his seat.

“No,” he says. “Hell no. I’m not walking around this thing! I don’t even like walking on the train when it’s moving. _No_.”

Grantaire knows they’re starting to attract attention. “Enjolras, just come on,” he says. “You can’t even feel the plane moving. Get up. I promise nothing bad will happen.” Grantaire leans closer to him, though he’s already hunched over and close enough in the cramped space. “Do you trust me?”

Enjolras’ expression changes for a moment, softens as though he wants to answer in the positive. But then he frowns again and says, “No.”

Grantaire laughs again, shaking his head as he kisses him softly. “Liar,” he says. “Come on. Come with me.”

It’s the kiss that does it, brief and chaste as it is, and Grantaire grins as Enjolras sighs and stands. He looks as if he’s expecting to have to fight against some great force of inertia, but when he realizes it’s no different than walking down the sidewalk, Enjolras finally looks relieved.

“See?” Grantaire says. “Nothing to it.” He’s still holding Enjolras’ hand and has been since Enjolras first took it. Grantaire leads him toward the back of the plane.

“Where are you taking me?” Enjolras asks.

He gets no answer.

When Enjolras sees that Grantaire has led him to the rear lavatory, he looks confused. “R?” he asks, his brow furrowed.

Grantaire opens the door and nods his head. “In,” he says.

“R,” Enjolras repeats, this time more of a warning than a question.

Grantaire puts on his best charming smile. “Please?”

Enjolras lets out an exasperated sigh and heads inside, and Grantaire follows - after casting a glance around to make sure they aren’t being watched.

Enjolras turns around in the cramped space, still looking unsure about what they’re doing. “Okay, how is this going to—” he begins. But he never gets the full question out.

Grantaire is pressing Enjolras back against the sink, kissing him breathless. Enjolras makes a shocked sound against his lips, but it doesn’t take long for him to get over it. He winds his arms around Grantaire’s shoulders and kisses him back, seemingly glad for the distraction.

Of course, that doesn’t last long either.

Grantaire is just getting his hands under his shirt when Enjolras pushes back against his shoulders. “What?” he asks him, hands on Enjolras’ waist.

“What if we’re missing some important announcement or something?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire kisses his chin and then kisses a line down his jaw and along the curve of his neck. “We’ll hear it in here.”

“But what if we hit bad turbulence?” Enjolras asks. His tone is less urgent, though, and Grantaire can’t help but think it’s thanks to his lips.

“Then make sure you hold onto something sturdier than my hair,” Grantaire replies with a smirk, his lips moving against Enjolras’ pulse point.

The response he gets isn’t verbal at first. It’s Enjolras burying his hands deep in Grantaire’s curls and taking hold. Grantaire leans back to look at him and raise an eyebrow in question.

“It’s held up so far,” Enjolras says with a shrug.

Grantaire wastes no time at all getting down to his knees. It’s not an easy feat in the small bathroom, but he manages well enough. He doesn’t need to be comfortable. But they do need to be somewhat quick. If someone knocks on the door, they’ll have to call it quits. Enjolras would never forgive him if they got in trouble for this.

“Oh god, I cannot believe I am allowing you to do this,” Enjolras says, looking down at Grantaire as he quickly unzips the fly of his jeans. “Someone is going to notice. We’ll get kicked off the plane for this.”

Grantaire pauses. “In mid-flight?”

Enjolras flushes with embarrassment. “You know what I mean.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Grantaire asks him, his fingers curled around the waistband.

Enjolras takes only a few beats to think about it, then he shakes his head. “No.”

That’s all the permission Grantaire needs. He tugs on Enjolras’ jeans, bringing them down just past his ass and taking his underwear with them. The sharp intake of breath as Grantaire takes Enjolras in his hand brings a smile to Grantaire’s lips. He flicks his eyes up to him as he strokes Enjolras, maintaining that eye contact moments later when he slips his mouth over the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Enjolras breathes out, hands still in Grantaire’s hair. His eyes flutter shut and he dips his head, his ponytail shifting and cascading down his shoulder. Grantaire can’t help but think he looks almost angelic with the halo of the bathroom light surrounding his head. But there’s nothing angelic about what they’re doing.

Grantaire can’t afford finesse. There just isn’t enough time for the slow teasing he usually likes to begin with. He moans around Enjolras, fingers curling around his hips to hold him in place, and all but swallows him down. Enjolras only pulls one hand out of Grantaire’s hair to clamp down over his own mouth, muffling his cry. The hand left in his hair grips tighters, tugs, and Grantaire himself moans. The sound, low and rich, vibrates along the length of Enjolras and he shivers. Grantaire is spurred on by the reaction, he wants more of it. So he lets out the occasional hum and whimper, not loud enough for others to hear but more than enough for Enjolras to _feel_.

They carry on for longer than Grantaire intends, fortunate enough to not be disturbed. Even if someone does knock, he isn’t about to stop. He’s got Enjolras writhing, biting into the heel of his palm to stop himself from making too much noise. Grantaire’s mouth is relentless, not easing up for a moment. He keeps his hands pinning Enjolras’ hips, feeling them try to buck against his hold every so often.

Enjolras drops the hand covering his mouth, panting and licking at his lips. “R… _Grantaire_ ,” he says, the name spilling from his lips more like a soft moan than anything else. Grantaire opens his eyes and looks up at him, not slowing his rushed pace for a second. His thumbs stroke at the dip of Enjolras’ hipbones and his cheeks hollow, the flat of his tongue pressing up against the firm flesh between his lips.

And it’s all too much for Enjolras. His face contorts in the beautiful way that it always does when he comes, his eyes squeezing shut and his lush lips falling open. His cry is soft, his hips pushing forward against the restraints of Grantaire’s hands. He’s got both hands in his hair again, fingers clenching and unclenching, and his head is tipped back. Enjolras whimpers his name, just a soft _R_ , as he sighs and sags back against the sink.

Grantaire draws back, tucking Enjolras away and doing up his jeans again. He indelicately wipes at the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb as he stands, unable to resist pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ exposed throat.

“Welcome to the Mile HIgh Club,” he says, grinning.

Enjolras is a man transformed, laughing and looking so blissed-out and relaxed that Grantaire can’ hardly believe he’s the same person he boarded the plane with. “How long have you been waiting to become a member?”

Grantaire turns around to unlock the door. “Who says I wasn’t already one?” he jokes.

Enjolras gives the back of his shoulder a playful shove as they tumble out of the bathroom. Right in front of a fellow passenger who must’ve been waiting for the bathroom. She looks back and forth between the two of them, seeing Enjolras instantly turn an impressive shade of red and Grantaire just grinning.

“He got airsick,” Grantaire says, not very convincingly. “First time. Flying, that is.”

Enjolras shoots him a look as he grabs the front of Grantaire’s shirt, pulling him back to their seats.

“ _You ass_!” he hisses as they settle, trying to keep his voice down. But the smile on his face tells Grantaire he isn’t really upset. And he isn’t thinking about how much he once hated flying either.

“Would you have preferred I told her the truth?” Grantaire asks.

Enjolras rolls his eyes at him, shaking his head. “You’re nothing but trouble, R. You know that?”

Grantaire smiles wider, nodding. “I do. But you are an ingrate, Enjolras, calling me trouble after what I just did for you.”

“Oh, you did that just for me, did you?” Enjolras asks him, an incredulous look on his face.

Grantaire puts his hand over his heart. “I did, I swear it. Because look who isn’t a nervous wreck anymore.”

Enjolras blinks at him, like he’s just realizing that he isn’t frozen in his seat and waiting for the crash landing he was sure was coming. “Alright, well. Thanks,” he says, leaning over and kissing Grantaire’s cheek. “But you know, I might not be cured. I could relapse on the flight home.”

“I fully expect you to,” Grantaire says. “But it’s fine. The normal dose for scared shitless-itis is—”

Enjolras groans and puts his hand over his face. “Don’t say it.”

“—two shots of vitamin R,” Grantaire finishes with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I hate you,” Enjolras says with a laugh, and it’s clear he means the exact opposite.

Grantaire smiles and leans his head back against the headrest of his seat. “Love you, too.”

Enjolras reaches over and takes his hand again, and this time it’s got nothing to do with fear.


End file.
